The Rule of Thoughts (24 page)

Feeling ridiculous, he let dreams take him away.

They had to change vehicles in a town right outside the Kentucky border and found themselves with a couple of hours to
kill. Hungry and tired, their options limited, they headed for a dump of a café. A full day had passed, and darkness had settled on the small dusty town. Maybe it was the humidity, but Michael felt damp and itchy and dirty.

And now he had to tell his friends about Gabby.

They were in a booth, Bryson across from Michael and Sarah. Michael had just taken a bite of a turkey club sandwich, washing it down with warm water—the bored waitress had graced him with all of one ice cube—when he got up his nerve.

“So,” he began, swallowing, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Turns out Jackson Porter had a girlfriend. I actually ran into her a couple of times before I found you guys.” He waited, acting casual but feeling like he’d just revealed his dirtiest, darkest secret.

Bryson and Sarah just looked at him. But they’d stopped chewing.

“I think she might be what Kaine was talking about,” he continued, “when he said he chose Jackson for a reason. Her dad works for the VNS. Does security for them. In Atlanta, actually. Maybe we can use the connection ourselves, to our advantage.” He took another big bite of his sandwich, glad he’d finally gotten that off his chest.

Bryson had an astonished look on his face. “What are you talking about? You’re just bringing this up now?”

Sarah stayed silent, the fuming kind of silent.

“Uh, yeah,” Michael replied. “I didn’t think it was a big deal until Kaine hinted at it. So I, uh, told her to meet us in Atlanta. I think we should talk to her. See if she can help us.
Or if she knows anything. And she’s not being hunted by the media and cops, either. I don’t know.” Now that it was all out, it suddenly seemed like the worst idea ever.

Sarah dropped her fork. “Michael. How can you possibly risk bringing someone else in on this?” She leaned back in her seat and folded her arms.

Bryson was shaking his head. He looked confused.

Michael tried to smooth it over. “Guys, don’t worry. I was careful. And I feel like I owe it to her to try to explain what happened. I really feel like we need to talk to her. Together.”

“You should’ve asked us first,” Sarah said sharply.

Michael looked at Bryson, and he nodded, once, in agreement.

“I’m sorry,” Michael said. “You’re right. I should’ve. It just didn’t seem like a big deal, and I … wanted to make things right with her. Make her feel better. And I just had a feeling that she can help us somehow. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

They lapsed into silence, picking at their food. Michael felt like an idiot.

He took another sip of his drink, almost choking when he noticed a young couple a few tables away staring straight at him. The man had dark hair, swept back in a gel-hardened style that looked either cutting-edge or fifty years out of date; Michael couldn’t tell. The man was thin, his cheeks packed with acne scars. His companion, a woman with short red hair and eyes the color of dying grass, had leaned her head against the man’s shoulder. No food—not even a drink—sat on the table in front of them. And they were both staring at Michael.

“Check that out,” he said to Sarah, voice low. He gave a slight nod in the direction of the couple. A chill worked its way up his spine.

Sarah stiffened. “We better get out of here.”

Bryson had his back to the man and woman. He noticed his friends’ attention, though, and turned to take a look. He swung back, face a little pale.

“Okay, that’s just not right,” he said. “Let’s skedaddle.”

Michael grabbed his sandwich and a handful of fries as Sarah paid the waitress, and continued eating as he walked toward the exit, the strangers’ stares like lasers between his shoulders. He fought the urge to look back at them.

Although his friends hadn’t said it, Michael knew what they were thinking. That it couldn’t be a coincidence, this odd pair staring at them right after Michael had contacted someone using the Net.

He hoped he hadn’t made a terrible mistake.

Michael finished his food just as he found a seat on the new bus. He brushed the crumbs off his lap and wiped the grease on his jeans like a five-year-old, then leaned his head against the window, keeping his eyes on the café down the street. Somehow, deep down, he knew what was going to happen. It wasn’t a minute later when the couple came out the door, their hands clasped, arms swinging in a sweet romantic gesture. They turned and walked toward the bus station.

“Crap,” he said.

“They’re following us?” Sarah asked.

Bryson was across the aisle, and he got up and leaned over them to look out the window. “If they get on this bus, I’m getting off.”

“That makes three of us,” Michael agreed, thankful no one was mentioning his girlfriend.
Jackson’s
girlfriend.

He watched as the man and woman got closer.

Bryson went back to his seat and plopped down with a sigh. “You know, all those years we talked about getting together in the Wake … this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. Being chased across the country. On a bus.”

Michael only half listened to Bryson complain, concentrating on the mysterious couple. They kept meandering about, oddly crisscrossing the street a couple of times, but they still headed for the bus. The driver had boarded by then, and was cranking up the engine. Most of the other passengers were in their seats as well, and Michael wished they could just get on with it. He wanted to be as far away from the spooky man and woman as possible, as
soon
as possible.

But they kept coming. Soon they abandoned any pretense of exploring the town and started walking briskly toward the bus. Toward Michael. They even seemed to be cutting a direct line to his very window.

“Who
are
these people?” he said under his breath, goose bumps standing up on his arms.

“You think they’re Tangents?” Sarah asked.

Michael shrugged. He willed the bus to start moving, but nothing was happening. Step by deliberate step, the couple approached.

“Come
on
,” Michael said tightly, glancing up at the driver. The man shifted about in his seat, checking instruments and moving things around, adjusting himself. Everything
but
driving.

A look back at the man and woman showed them only a few feet away. Michael almost gasped—it was like they’d sped up time, leaping ahead in a quantum burst. And then they were right below his window, craning their necks to see him, though he didn’t know how well they could in the darkness. But their eyes found his and they grew still.

Michael’s nerves were officially on fire. “What should we do? Get off?”

Sarah squeezed his shoulder as she leaned in to get a better view of their visitors. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

He looked once again at the driver, who had finally settled down. It seemed that he was finally about to pull out. The man reached for a lever.

Michael returned his attention to the couple outside his window. The woman slowly raised a hand, fingers slightly crooked but outstretched, palm outward, until her arm was fully above her head, the index finger pointing at Michael. Both the man and the woman had dazed expressions on their faces. They stared at Michael as if in wonder. His throat clenched.

Before anything else could happen, the bus lurched into motion with a grumpy roar, jolting everyone on board, and pulled away. The couple stood in the street, holding hands, watching longingly as the bus left them behind.

They rode through the night, making it to Atlanta in the early morning without further incident. Michael, exhausted, slept well despite the creepy chills from the strange encounter at the diner. He and his friends got off the bus, ate a quick breakfast, then made their way through the city, doing their best to keep to themselves. Their destination was close; they could see it in brief glimpses between buildings as they walked.

The parking lot of the Falcons’ stadium.

Where everything had started.

Michael had only one thing to go on when it came to finding Agent Weber and forcing her to meet with him, and he was banking on the fact that
Lifeblood Deep
had been created to replicate the real world as much as humanly possible.

It was weird to remember that day when he’d been taken to the stadium parking lot, where a secret entrance opened up to reveal a massive VNS headquarters down below. It was weird because he’d been in the Sleep, and none of it was real. When Agent Weber came to see him after he’d been inserted into a human body, she’d pretty much told him that everything they’d discussed had been real, that his mission was real. Just not the world in which it had taken place.

He needed to talk to her. Desperately. Right before getting off the bus, he’d messaged Gabby, telling her to message him the second she could meet. Meanwhile, Michael and his friends meandered through the city.

They were just passing the windows of a small coffee shop when someone banged on the glass from inside, startling Michael so much that he jumped away from it, stumbling. He caught himself before he fell to the cement. Looking back, he saw a teenage girl gazing through the window, her eyes glued to Michael.

Spotted
, he thought miserably. Someone was bound to recognize them from the NewsBops. Or was she like the couple at the diner? There was something about her eyes.…

“You friends with that chick?” Bryson asked.

Michael shook his head, panic rising in his chest. “Let’s keep moving.”

But even as he said it the girl had swept away from the window and come charging out the door of the coffee shop. Michael braced himself, knowing he should run but wanting the truth. Were there others out there like him?

“Whoa, hold tight,” Bryson said to the girl as she walked right up to Michael. Bryson stood in front of her with hands held out, like a cop ordering someone to step away from the scene of a crime. “Back off.”

Sarah had come to Michael’s side, her hand gripping his arm. She leaned closer to whisper to him. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Don’t even talk to her.”

But he was mesmerized. The girl was odd-looking, with long blond hair framing a strange, elven face with dark eyes. She looked … distant, like the couple in the diner. She was peeking over Bryson’s shoulder, smiling at Michael, and he found himself unable to move.

“But I just … I wanted to say hi,” she said, her gaze never
leaving Michael. “My name is Carol. I just want to say hi to the First.”

Bryson turned around, an expression of total confusion transforming his face. “Dude, do you know this girl or not?” Michael shook his head slightly, still tingling with fear but feeling like he had an opportunity to learn something. There had to be a connection between this Carol person and the man and woman who’d stared at him before. He had to know what it was. It could be as simple as their recognizing his face from the NewsBops, but he meant to find out.

“Let her talk,” he said quietly. “Maybe she can tell us something.”

Bryson gave him a questioning look and shook his head. Sarah squeezed his arm even tighter, until it hurt. But Michael ignored them, addressing the stranger.